


Let's roll like we used to

by scramjets



Category: Round The Twist
Genre: Gen, S2 casting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-18
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-23 20:57:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/931014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scramjets/pseuds/scramjets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been five years since Pete's visited home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's roll like we used to

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Season 2 of RTT as I see S1, S2 and S3/4 unrelated due to recasting. No spoilers. Fic for Australian TV shows from the early 90s, ftw/o/. Title borrowed from Kasabian's song of (mostly) the same name.

One thing that Pete hadn’t expected while driving along the highway to Port Niranda was to be pulled over. Pete swore as he caught sight of the coloured lights and indicated off onto the shoulder of the road. He had never violated a road rule in his life.

Pete wound down a window and threw out a, ‘problem, officer?’, like he had seen in the movies.

The final stretch of road into the heart of Niranda had never been well lit and coupled with the overcast night had Pete squint to make out the figure coming towards him. He wasn’t tall or especially broad, but he had a swagger that told Pete he was in trouble.

“Well, well, what do we have here.”

Pete recognized the voice even before the owner ducked to look at him through the open window. 

“Gribble?”

Gribble stared back, eyes wide before he collected himself. “Twist,” he said. Pete caught the incredulity still present in his voice. “No bloody surprise then.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Gribble scowled, the expression at home on his features as it had been a decade ago. It was fascinating to see. Pete shook his head and glanced at the dash to gather his bearings.

“Was I speeding?” Pete asked as he turned back to Gribble who was still propped up against the car door.

“Huh?”

Pete couldn’t help the smile that edged his lips. “I said, was I speeding, _officer_?”

Gribble must have caught the stress on the word, because he straightened and pulled back from the door. “Your license.”

Pete unclipped his seatbelt and shrugged it over his shoulder. He doubted that Gribble would turn him in or fine him—he knew Gribble enough to understand his scare tactics. 

“Didn’t figure you were into public safety enough to become a cop,” Pete said as he arched in the car seat, hand shoved down the pocket of his jeans for his wallet.

Gribble didn’t bother responding further than a, ‘shut up, Twist,’ and Pete hummed as he flipped his wallet open and withdrew his license. He held it out the car window where Gribble snatched it out of his fingers. 

Pete watched as Gribble took out a torch and flicked it on, holding it up at eye level to read the card. “You’re a long way out of Queensland,” he said.

“Yeah, just visiting my parents and kid brother.”

Gribble swung the light into Pete’s face, forcing him to throw a hand up to shield his eyes. “Fuck, what was that for?”

“You giving shit to a uniform?”

“No,” Pete said as he tried to blink the dots out of his vision.

“Your rego is out of date,” Gribble said as he handed back his license. 

Pete threw the card into the cup holder before he stretched across the middle console and yanked open the glove box. He heard Gribble draw a breath.

“The hell are you doing?”

“But then again,” Pete continued as he rooted through the pile of receipts he had collected in the glove box over the years. “I suppose you’d appreciate the power trip the uniform would give you. Here,” he said as he turned back, shoving a slip of paper through the open window towards Gribble. “Receipt for my rego renewal. Still waiting to get it in the mail. Not that it matters much to the Victorian government.”

“Right,” Gribble said, not bothering to look at the paper. “I’m taking you in.”

“What?” Pete said, the word caught between anger and disbelief. “I didn’t even do anything wrong!”

“You gave shit to a uniform,” Gribble said. He wasn’t even attempting to hide the smile on his face. “Get out of the car.”

Pete didn’t move. “You can’t be serious. I’m not leaving my car on the side of the road. Not with all my gear in here.”

“That’s something you should’ve thought about before you started mouthing off, isn’t it?” Gribble said. He tapped the roof with his torch. “Now get your arse outta the car.”

Pete stared, open mouthed, before he complied. He grabbed his laptop bag as he climbed out, locked his car, and followed Gribble to the police vehicle, still holding his registration papers.

The car smelled like freshener and stale smoke; a combination that made Pete wrinkle his nose as he buckled himself in. 

“Back seat, Twist.”

“Give us a break,” Pete said, not bothering to hide his frustration. “What am I going to do to you? Bludgeon you with my laptop?”

Gribble shot him a look; it framed within a police uniform complete with the hat made Pete snap his mouth shut. 

Neither spoke as Gribble started the engine and Pete did nothing but stare out the window, watching as his car disappeared into the distance.

He knew he should have waited until morning before making the final stretch home. 

 

Pete woke when he felt the car come to a short stop. He drew a sharp breath, confused for a moment before he remembered what had happened. Pete remained silent as he climbed out of the car and followed Gribble to the station. It had been renovated since he had seen it last. It had been a small house – Mrs. Mavis’s, Pete recalled – that had been converted. Now it looked like a proper police station, complete with the checked blue and white sign lit up at the front.

“Do you even have cells?” Pete asked, voice rough with sleep. “What am I even here for anyway?” he continued when Gribble didn’t answer. 

“Sit,” Gribble said once inside. 

Pete complied, suddenly worn out and tired. He had been driving for a week straight, stopping at hotels and motels that dotted the coastal road from North Queensland down to Port Niranda. He had planned the visit for nearly half a year, after promising to make the trip for the better part of five. The one thing he hadn’t made concession for was getting thrown in jail by a school-bully turned cop. 

“I’m pretty sure it’s within my rights to know what I’m been kept for,” Pete said.

“Careless driving,” Gribble said from across the room where he stood, filling in paperwork. He had removed his hat, leaving Pete to stare at the fall his red-blond hair.

“What?”

Gribble looked up. “I don’t know if you noticed, Twist, but you were all over the damn road. Either your family was going to wake up to news of your mangled remains on the shoreline, or I was going to have to bring you in.”

Pete stared. “Oh.”

Gribble held his gaze for a long moment before he shook his head and returned to his paperwork, leaving Pete to his thoughts.

“You gonna call Tony?”

Pete started in his seat. He had almost dozed off again.

“What?”

Gribble mocked holding a phone in his hand. “You gonna give your folks a call?”

“What for?”

“I swear you weren’t this stupid when we were in school,” Gribble said. He gestured with his free hand. “This place isn’t big enough to hold you, you’re going to have to call your folks to pick you up.”

“It’s nearly one in the morning!”

“Least I know you can still manage time.”

“I can’t!”

“You’re going to have to,” Gribble said.

“When do you clock off? Can I stay here?”

It was Gribble’s turn to stare. “You’re joking,” he managed after a moment.

Pete almost regretted opening his mouth. It had been the first thing that had come to his mind. The last thing had been the prospect of his family collecting him from the station after five years of not seeing them.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“You’re crazy.”

“C’mon,” Pete said. He wasn’t above pleading at 1am. “It’ll only be for a few hours. I’ll clear off before you start in the morning.”

Gribble ran a hand through his hair. It was long, Pete noticed belatedly, the bulk of it sweeping below his ears, just short of reaching the pale blue line of his collar. 

“Fine,” Gribble said, the single word breaking through Pete’s thoughts. 

Pete blinked. He hadn’t been expecting Gribble to agree. 

“Cheers,” Pete said, his relief audible as he moved to settle back on the couch.

“Always a damn inconvenience,” Gribble said, speaking to himself as he gathered his gear. “I go home after a night’s work, find you swerving everywhere; I fulfil my duty as an officer, and then you go assume that the station's a hotel just for you. Christ, Twist—“

Pete ignored him as he made himself comfortable and closed his eyes.

 

Pete woke in early afternoon the next day. It took him a long moment to remember where he was, and, strangely, the first thing that had come to mind was the abandoned toilet block on the pier. He wasn’t there though; the cramps in his neck and the strange twist of his body were the thanks to a night spent on a couch that was too small.

He must have slept through Gribble ducking in and out, Pete thought as pressed a hand against his face and dropped back against the cushions. It felt good to be lying down. It felt good to have had a decent night’s rest with no long drive ahead.

Pete curled onto his side, then frowned when he heard the crinkle of paper. It took a minute to find the note, crushed beneath him and torn at one corner. He flipped it over and grinned at the familiar scrawl.

 _So much for nicking off before I got in_ , it read. _Got your car towed off the highway to the lighthouse. You can leave by the back door—it’s deadlocked. I’ll send a bill for lodging. Traffic fine as attached_.

Pete found that one as well, sandwiched between the pillows. 

It was good to be home.


End file.
